


Children of the Old Gods

by Emiza



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragon Genji Shimada, Dragons, F/M, Fluff, Mythology References, Non-Graphic Smut, Non-Graphic Violence, Valkyrie Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emiza/pseuds/Emiza
Summary: Angela is a princess of the Northern kingdom, loved by her people as Mercy. Her enemies know her as the Valkyrie, for she wanders the battlefield and decides who may live and who may die.She can bring an army back from the afterlife, and send another army in its place, all with a single wish. 
It is only natural that the other kingdoms want her dead.It is not as natural for a dragon to kidnap her first.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first work for the Overwatch fandom, and it will certianly not be my last.  
> I've worked really hard on this one-shot and I've spent hours on it, so I hope you'll all enjoy it! 
> 
> It was written in a different style than I usually use, but I quite like this one for covering longer periods of time and making it all feel a bit more "fantasy"-ish. My future works will probably not be in this style, but who knows! :)
> 
> Make sure to check out [this awesome fanart](http://zeearts.tumblr.com/post/152990599295/) by [Zeearts](http://zeearts.tumblr.com/)! And [this super sweet fanart](http://usatherei.tumblr.com/post/157911782473/) by [Usatherei](http://usatherei.tumblr.com/)! <3
> 
> This isn't beta-read, so all mistakes are on me. 
> 
> There is also some smut near the end, nothing graphic or in detail, but there nonetheless. So skip that if it's not your cup of tea! :)
> 
> I hope you'll all enjoy!

There is a rumor, spread far and wide over the Land of the Mortals, across the four great kingdoms of old. It speaks of a woman, carrying the burden of men as feathers on her back, gold and glimmering. She wanders the battlefield, untouched and pure, as she touches the souls of the fallen. Her smile is so gentle it may cure even the deadliest of sickness, her voice a melody of its own and mortals are left breathless after hearing her speak.

To her proud people of the North, she is Mercy, for it is the first thing her kin may know, and the last her enemies shall be shown.

In the other kingdoms, as far as the eternal ocean in south, to the highest mountain of the west, and amongst the blossoming pink of the east, she is known under a different name. As she wanders the battlefield, her touch reaching for souls, she may decide who lives and who dies. If she wishes for life, it shall be. If she wishes for death, that is all which shall be known.

That is her gift bestowed upon her by the Old Gods.

For she is a Valkyrie, born upon the sweet fields of The Goddess, amongst the green grass and flowers dripping of nectar; the last rest for noble warriors, men and women alike.

To her people, she is a savior, both on the battlefield and outside. With her at their side, no battle shall be lost, and none shall fall ill in curses placed upon them by Gods and mortals alike. She is a grace with her height and her hair, so pale blond a single lock can be sold for kilos of gold. To touch her without permission is punishable with death.

To others, she is but a rumor, dangerous and merciless, but real nonetheless. Crossing her path is spelled in death, and no God, old or new, may save the one being judged by the Valkyrie.

But the Valkyrie shows mercy to those who have done her no harm, and none shall die unless she wishes for it to be so.

Because the truth is far from the rumors.

 

*

 

The kingdom of the North is a cold place. It is home to warriors with hearts warm enough to last, who carries their pride as something holy, who prays to Gods of old and spit in the face of new ones.

In the summer, if the Gods are kind, the weather may lighten up and a brilliant blue sky may be shown. The world may bloom, with birds collecting nectar and building nests on the roofs of every house in the villages, filling the air with song and a promise of rebirth.

In the winter, four layers of fur is needed to keep warm. Fire Breathers are sought after and paid their weight in gold to breathe warmth upon naked skin, to remind of days which will come once again, of a sun bright enough that no magic is needed. But in the winter, during the coldest and darkest of nights, the spirits of their ancestors dance in the sky, twisting and twirling, blessing the mortals with their presence. “If you may catch their light,” the northern people used to say, “you shall be gifted, a bringer of messages from the Old Gods.”

Angela was born during such a night. And she was blessed by the Old Gods, just like her people believed. The gift a blessing and a burden, carried proudly by the only princess to be born in the cold North.

She was loved by her people, her name whispered with adoration.

_The blessed child_ , they called her until she was no longer a child, forced into politics and her childlike innocence stolen by the grim reality.

_Our Angel_ , they called her as the weight of others’ burdens started to form on her back; golden lines of feathers marking her skin, burning as they appeared in the dark of night. And she had to learn how to force back tears, to choke on her own sobs and let nothing show as the lines burned and _burned_ and **_burned_**.

_Mercy_ , they called her as she saw her first battlefield and wished with tears wetting her cheeks, that none would be dead. With her wish, none was dead; their souls touched and pulled back, forced to live once again. And with every life spared, with every life lost, the feathers on her back burned brighter.

She tried to find a way around it.

“I may not be present every time someone is hurt,” she spoke with her arms full of herbs plucked from beneath the layers of snow.

Her parents questioned her purpose, laughed it off before they tried to hinder her. “It is not fit for a princess,” they would say, voices stern and eyes warm. “You shall be trained to fight. You shall be trained to carry the burdens of others. As is your role as princess of the North, and as is your role as blessed by the Old Gods.”

She would raise her chin then, clutching her herbs tighter, resolve unbroken. “I shall give our people a way to survive, long after I have passed. That is what I shall do until my gift is needed next.”

And there were no complaints then, not from her parents and not from her people, as she cured illness after illness with strange herbs and not magic. Her people grew strong, long and old sicknesses existing no more in the blood of her people.

With her next battle, as she fought alongside her people, bringing the dead back again and bringing death upon their enemies, her back ached and burned and bled. And she fought until she could take no more, until the pain of burdens became unbearable, and she showed the ones who were left alive mercy from death.

As the remaining army fled, a name was whispered among them, but not the name of Mercy.

“You shall be remembered,” her people told her in the aftermath of the battle, awe in their voices and wonder in their eyes. “And your name shall echo across time.”

 

*

 

Whispers echoed in the kingdoms that weren’t hers.

Whispers of the Valkyrie, of her deeds on the battlefield, of her gift and of her cold heart, of how she never showed mercy to anyone but her people.

Whispers of how to get rid of her. 

 

*

 

The first assassin sent came through her window in the dead of night, as the world laid still and sleeping.

She felt the flicker of his soul before she saw him, her heart beating too fast and she knew why he had come, for there was only one possibility. She was a princess, someone blessed by faith and by the Gods. Too many wanted her dead and it had only been a matter of time before they had tried, she knew.

She knew, and yet she still wanted to live.

Before she could light a candle to cast light upon the intruder, he laid dead on her floor. She had wished to live. And so, the one who had come to claim her life had been killed in her stead. He laid unmoving, as if he’d fallen asleep where he had stood, and Angela couldn’t help but think that he looked more peaceful than the ones she had seen dead on the battlefields.

_Was this mercy?_

As she went back to sleep, the body carried away by guards and the window closed once more, the ancestors danced in the sky.

 

*

 

Many more assassins were sent after that, cruel and unforgiving. And every time, they all fell dead at her feet.

 

*

 

Sometimes, she feared that she would wish death upon an innocent, and wish life upon the unworthy.

Sometimes, when she was back in her room, hours before the sun would rise, she cursed her gift and the Gods who had given her the burden. And her feathers would burn hotter, biting into her skin without letting her bleed, without letting her _breathe_.

Sometimes, she wondered if it truly was mercy.

 

*

 

Battles were never a pretty sight. Too much blood and too much death, too much of everything. And too many who clutched at her legs with bloody fingers, staining her clothes and the fur on her shoulders, begging with tears in their eyes that she would show mercy.

She always did.

And as she wandered the battlefield, the aftermaths still clear with no green grass, with bodies and limbs and gore scattered around like toys in the playroom of a child, she touched souls upon souls. She showed them mercy, in life or in death, and her wings would burn brighter.

“Who are you,” a man she came across spoke, voice bubbling with blood and pain, the mark of the barbarians’ on his chest, “to decide who may live and who may die?”

And she kneeled down, her pants soaking up the blood on the ground, sticking to her skin. She reached her hand forward, touching his chest, touching his soul to make a judgment, and he shivered under her touch.

“How am I any different from any warrior?”

 

*

 

The skies were darkened, an early autumn storm approaching, the blue covered in clouds so dark it could’ve been night.

“The Gods are angry,” the villagers spoke. “There haven’t been enough battles to satisfy them.”

“A curse has been said,” her parents said, the voice of reason, with the knowledge of magic. “A dark gift by the Old Gods. It’s been said far away from here, and we shall have no reason to worry.”

Angela trusted her parents, trusted their words.

It took a week before the skies cleared, and life continued on as if it had never happened. Angela kept to herself in her room, herbs in her hands and between her fingers as she came up with yet another cure, to make life just a bit easier for those who had trouble sleeping at night, who were haunted by dreams of death and touches to their soul.

She was used to working alone, had been firm in her way when she had demanded it. “I don’t want to be disturbed when I work,” she had said, and her words had turned into law.

And yet, as she wiped her hands on her shirt like she did when no one saw, there was a knock on her window.

_Another assassin_ , her mind screamed at her. But an assassin wouldn’t knock.

Angela had always been curious, eager to learn new, to find a lesson in everything. Nothing stopped her from walking up to her window. Nothing stopped her from unlocking it, to swing it open and peer out. Nothing could’ve prepared her for what she saw.

She had heard stories, told to her as a child in flickering candlelight, of the scaled beasts of old. Large enough to swallow mortals whole, to curl around the world once. _Children of the Old Gods_ , they were called, but a different kind of child than Angela.

And now one was staring at her, dark brown eyes, glimmering and cat-like, following her every movement. Scales, as green as the grass in spring, like the Sea of Emerald to the east, covering a snake-like body with a mane traveling down its length.

It reached out for her, with paws large in size and with claws white and sharp, mouth opening to let out a sigh, the puff of air as strong as any autumn wind, revealing teeth that wouldn’t be needed to swallow her.

There was no way for her to get away, to escape, and so she did what she could do.

She wished the dragon dead.

But the dragon remained unaffected, taking a hold of her waist and holding her close before it threw itself into the air. With no wings, it shouldn’t fly. A beast of legend, it shouldn’t exist.

It did both.

The world below grew smaller and smaller, her voice lost to her, stolen from her breath as the wind licked her skin and claws held her in a way that couldn’t be described other than gentle.

The world was spinning, a dizzy fury, as the dragon finally landed when the sun touched the horizon. Angela was released, dropping to the cold floor with legs that wouldn’t carry her, the stone walls towering up above her, ruined and old, the castle abandoned since long.

She managed to turn, to back away from the beast with shaking arms and wide eyes, with a heart beating too fast, a hummingbird in her chest. And the dragon kept its distance, crawling slowly along the other wall.

Watching her.

And when the princess wouldn’t speak, the dragon took word, voice dark and rumbling.

“Please. Help me.”

And that voice was unmistakably human.

 

*

 

The first day in captivity was spent huddled up in a corner, eyes on the dragon. She had been taught how to fight, taught how to survive, taught how to take lives in more ways than one. And yet she knew that there was no winning against the beast in front of her.

It kept a respectful distance, pressed up against the other wall near the window they’d arrived through, its tail blocking the only door in the room. Its watchful eyes didn’t trail from her, blinking slowly now and then, as if it was trying to see how long it would take until Angela broke.

Because that’s what she feared the most.

The dragon couldn’t kill her, couldn’t rip her apart with teeth and claws, because if she wished to live then life should be bestowed upon her. But what if the dragon waited. What if it starved her, stole her sleep and her will, to the point where she could no longer make such a wish.

Then she would no longer be able to keep her life.

Neither could her gift be used on the dragon, for no matter how much she wished, the beast still breathed, calm and collected, puffs of air ruffling her hair.

She didn’t dare to move, freezing every time the dragon shifted. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. She would fight with nails and teeth if she had to, for she was a Valkyrie, and she valued life above anything.

Even her own.

And as the dragon moved again, claws dragging over the floor and stretching like a cat, Angela was quick on her feet. She grabbed for anything in the room that could be used as a weapon, finding nothing but an old pillow, but it was thrown at the moving dragon nonetheless.

In the confused haze that followed, the dragon staring at her after dodging the pillow like a snake would, she rushed for the window. The wood of the windowsill bit into the flesh of her hands as she leaned out, seeing nothing but green grass far below.

She would not survive a fall like that, not without her gift. But even so, broken bones took hours to mend back together. She wouldn’t have the time.

There was a rumble behind her, soft and warning, _worried_ in a way that made her pause. When she looked back, eye to eye with the beast, she shrunk back to her corner without a word, silently begging to the Old Gods that she may come out of this alive.

 

*

 

The second day, after a night spent in turning and cold sweat, with a howling wind outside and a dragon in the room, Angela woke to a pile of fruit in the middle of the room. It had been left there, as if the dragon had been too afraid to move closer, the pile so neat it would’ve done fine as an offering to the Gods in spring, when the people prayed for a year of rich harvest.

Next to the fruit laid a heap of clothes, wet patches here and there as if they’d been left out in the open to dry and then plucked down.

The dragon laid across the other wall, stretched out and eyes closed, looking like it was asleep. It didn’t move when Angela did, laying still as she slowly got up from her corner, her stomach aching, not used to going hungry for so long. The floor didn’t betray her, made no sound as she picked up the fruit in her arms, along with the clothes to pick through.

Perhaps she could create a rope, to get a little closer to the ground through the window.

She didn’t retreat back to her corner, choosing the worn-down bed instead, the pillow she’d thrown replaced with a new one that smelled of jasmine tea. She figured it would be a nicer place to sit on than on the cold and hard floor, and that some food in her stomach would help her think clearly, to make a successful escape the next time she tried.

As she sat down, the bed creaked, and she froze. Large, dark brown eyes blinked open, looking around the room before they landed on her. She tried not to look scared, to swallow it down like she did with the pain on her back, still ready to defend herself if the dragon would come closer.

It kept staring at her, a long minute that seemed to drag on, until it began moving slowly, slowly, as if to not scare her. Stretching its body, it shifted into another position, more curled up, a better position to keep an eye on her.

Letting the fruit fall to the bed, a pear still in her hand and ready to be thrown at an eye if the dragon was to move closer, Angela raised her chin. It didn’t take much effort to find her voice, took more to find words, and she shattered the silence like glass, her words flowing unwillingly.

“Why have you stolen me?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and bitter after it left her lips. At the sound, the dragon perked up, eyes widening ever so slightly as it took her in. When it spoke, its voice was soft with a rumble behind every word, marked with an accent unknown and foreign to Angela.

“You are the Valkyrie, known across the land. You cure pain and death.” It paused, lowering its head and gazing up at her. “I want you no harm; you are the only one who can break this curse of mine, the only one who can show me mercy.”

But Angela didn’t believe that, couldn’t see how the dragon before her could’ve been cursed. Sharp teeth and claws that could rip flesh apart easier and messier than any sword, wasn’t a curse in her mind. In the North, that would’ve been a gift, to be a child of the Old Gods.

Keeping her eyes on the dragon, that kept its head lowered to the floor, she began eating the fruit, fresh juices dripping down her chin onto her shirt. And only when the dragon had turned around, allowing her privacy without a word, did she change into the clothes she’d been brought, the only pieces that fit being a simple shirt and pants made of thin leather.

The dragon spoke no more.

And neither did Angela.

 

*

 

Without Mercy on the battlefield, without anyone to heal their wounds and pains, without anyone to wish death away, the North would be doomed.

Without Valkyrie on the battlefield, the other kingdoms and stray barbarians could claim victory.

Her life was a valued one, and having her stolen away would benefit many. And so, she didn’t believe the dragon when it spoke of a curse. There must be something else behind it, she thought as she watched the creature sleep with a restless tail, a warm night that could’ve been perfect for an escape.

_There must be something else_.

 

*

 

Sometimes, when the dragon didn’t look her way, she would wish for its life to end, and every time it would keep breathing, undisturbed and unaware.

 

*

 

Her attempts to escape soon ceased, and she found her thoughts no longer drifting to the window and the world beyond. In no way had she given up, told herself that she would find another way, to get back to her people somehow.

The dragon kept bringing her food; fresh fruit with juices so delicious she licked her fingers to not miss a single drop, dried meat and cheese with a smell so foul that it stuck to her clothes until she demanded a bath, to which the dragon obliged.

It never hurt her, never showed any intention to, bowing its head low when she made any sudden movement, trying to look unthreatening. As if it wasn’t a creature of the Gods, as if it couldn’t rip her apart so easily, as if it couldn’t swallow her whole with a single bite.

Without much else to do, she kept staring at it, trying to figure out why it kept her alive. Why it survived her gift. Because no mortal soul could escape the Valkyrie.

The more she looked, the more she saw.

A soul, bright and moving like the stars upon a dark night, full of promises and secrets. Darkness swirled around it, keeping it trapped, tendrils clutching onto it and it looked like it _burned_.

Just like the feathers on her back.

And although it was a dragon that sat before her, a creature of old and a child of the Gods, its soul was still painfully human.  

 

*

 

And so, on the seventh day, she made a decision.

 

*

 

She woke early, along with the sun in the horizon. There was no breakfast waiting for her that day, and when she looked over at the dragon, she found it sleeping in its corner. It was curled up around itself, completely still with a soft rising with every breath.

Slowly, Angela got up from the bed, floor cold underneath her bare feet as she took a testing step. Even as the floor creaked, the dragon did not stir, and she paused, head tilting to the side as she studied the dragon.

Something was amiss.

The dragon, usually still in sleep, was twitching, tremors running down its body and its muzzle curled in a soundless snarl. It kicked with its legs, trying to fend of invisible foes. It looked like it was in _pain_ , something in its dream tearing at its _soul_.

And Angela recognized that pain, for it was the same that tore her back into feathers of golden ink.

The dragon didn’t wake as she got closer and closer, a breath away from the beast and as close as she dared. She could see the glimmer of its bright scales, the way they caught the morning light and shifted in shades of green and yellow and blue. Just a single scale looked more expensive than the jewels and crystals they dug out in the mountains to the west, and together they created a river of color, shifting with the dragon’s restless movement.

She moved with it, watching it closely as she reached out a steady hand, not knowing what exactly possessed her to do such a thing. To wake a sleeping dragon would not be a wise move, she knew.

But if the beast spoke the truth, if she was to trust what she had seen, then it was no child of the Old Gods before her. It was human, just like her. And waking a sleeping human wouldn’t be nearly as dangerous.

At least, so she hoped.

Her fingers lingered a breath away from the glistering scales, from the deep frown that had settled upon the dragon’s features, and just as she was about to touch the sharpness of those scales, dark brown eyes opened.

There was a pause in the air, a lingering gaze shifting from her outstretched hand before it settled upon her own gaze. Quiet, the dragon watched her. Vary, it kept completely still. And for a second, a moment longer than it should’ve been, Angela got lost in that dark gaze, found it impossible to look away.

For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe.

“You say,” she began, finding her voice and letting her hand fall to her side, slowly and regretfully with the missed opportunity, “that you have been cursed, that you are not a dragon. You say that you want me no harm, that I might help you.”

The dragon blinked, slowly. Waiting.

“I do not know if or how I might help, for breaking curses are beyond my power.” A deep breath. She had already made her decision. “But I can see your suffering, I know it well. And I believe you speak the truth. That is the only reason why I will help you, and I shall do everything within my power to set you free of the curse.”

A lingering pause followed her voice, a silence that settled deep in their bones as her words sunk in. And then it was broken, shattered so easily by a rumbling, a deep purr from within the dragon’s chest as it lowered its head in a bow, eyes falling closed.

“Thank you,” it whispered, words repeated through the day. “Thank you.”

 

*

 

Her wishes had no power over the curse. And so, she turned to the herbs she knew so well. The texture familiar beneath her fingers, the smell stinging her nose in a way that reminded her of home, the taste bitter and sweet and everything in between that could easily make a grown man drop dead with a single bite.

Gifts from the Gods, old and new, were powerful and no human could ever change them.

Yet, she hoped the nature, older than any God, old or new, living or dead, would be strong enough to break magic curling around souls.

 

*  


At her first request, herbs from nearby were brought to the room, a mix of what she recognized and new ones she tasted and mixed and figured out. There was no place to start, there were no clues on what herbs to use to break the curse, were no signs if it was actually possible.

But Angela would try.

Her hair tied back, her clothes dirty with mud and green spots, she mixed herbs together and filled the air with the musky scent, until she eventually had a first try. The mixture, thick and green in color, was scooped up in a large bowl and given to the dragon.

She helped it drink, for its claws threatened to shatter the bowl, and puffs of air ghosted over her hands as the beast swallowed without hesitation.

“You put a lot of trust in a stranger,” she couldn’t help but say as she put down the now empty bowl, watching as the dragon licked its mouth and teeth, as if something sticky got stuck at the roof of its mouth.

A tilt of her head, narrowed eyes looking the child of old over. “How are you sure I am not poisoning you, leaving you to die so I may run back home?”

And the dragon met her gaze, and it answered: “I have heard stories, about a Valkyrie; a beauty on the battlefield, an angel who shows mercy to those in need. If you wish for death, that shall be truth. If you wish for life, there shall be another sunrise. How can I not put my trust in you?”

She turned back to her work, anything to tear her gaze away and hide her expression from the dragon. Only when she was sure her voice wouldn’t betray her, did she speak. “Angela. That is my name.”

She could feel yet another breath ghosting over her back, soft and warm.

“Genji.”

 

*

 

The first mixture didn’t work, had little effect other than a mild stomach ache. And so, Angela tried again, with new herbs and local spices, with every technique she knew of.

Still, no matter how many mixtures she made, how many times she tried, Genji drank them all without complaining. Even when his stomach ached, head held between his hands as illusions sparked over his vision, as he fell ill and refused to move for three days straight, did he ever complain.

With every new mixture, he thanked her.

And with every try, he would remain a dragon, the curse unbroken.

Genji traveled far, further and further away each time, finding new herbs with textures that were rough against her fingers and with colorful flowers that tasted of poison, hoping that the unknown would prove more futile.

“These are Angel Tears,” she said, holding up the lush flowers with petals so thin they looked transparent, placing them next to other flowers brighter in color. “And these, I do not know.”

Angela tried with every herb and flower and spice that was placed in her hands. She tried, with sweat dripping down her forehead sleepless nights when her determination kept her up, with clothes dirtier and dirtier for each and every day. She tried, with the Angel Tears and buttercups, with the roots of dandelions and bitter herbs, with basil and flowers closed off in buds and looking just like the gemstone that had given it its name.

And with every try, Genji would remain a dragon, the curse unbroken.

Yet, he still thanked her, voice warm and grateful despite her failures.

 

*

 

“You would not want to eat that,” Angela said, not even looking back at the dragon, holding large and red mushrooms in his claws. “It could kill a lesser man. To you, it will bring an ache I cannot still.”

“It would not kill me,” Genji huffed, a puff of air leaving him as he turned away. “This curse of mine clutches to my life like a snake. A mushroom would not claim it.”

And Angela hid a smile, her steps silent on the floor as she walked up to the dragon. He did no longer scare him, but his scales were still sharp to the eye and surely sharp to the touch.

“Do not eat that,” she repeated, gently taking the mushrooms from his claws and replacing it with a bowl full of a purple liquid. “Drink this instead.”

She gave him the new mixture, and watched his scales turn to purple for an hour before she could reverse it. And all the while she mashed herbs and flowers together, she tried to hide her giggles at the bright dragon looming behind her, whining like a displeased cat that had lost all its pride. 

“I would have preferred the mushrooms.”

 

*

 

I became harder, with every failure and futile tries, to keep herself standing and to continue mixing herbs and mushrooms and spices and flowers.

“If I cannot do this,” she whispered to herself, in the early hours of morning when Genji hunted food and ingredients, when she felt the weakest with tears burning her eyes, “if I cannot save a single man, then who am I to claim the life of others?”

She wouldn’t give up, refused to give in to the burn of tears. And as Genji returned, she smiled and greeted him gently, a new mixture ready for him to taste.

 

*

 

The days grew colder as the leaves fell from trees, winter approaching in a faster pace than the year before. They kept themselves warm with a sparking fire and thick furs from their last dinner, still smelling of bear and forest, and although Genji seemed undisturbed by the cold nights, Angela slept underneath three blankets along with her fur.

It became harder to find herbs, and Genji had to travel far to the south, coming back with not only ingredients, but also sand that got stuck in his scales, and seashells that were as beautiful as they were fragile.

But the room at the top of the tower did not have windows covered with glass, and there was no one to keep a fire alive in the darkest of nights. The chilly stones surrounding them did little to keep out the cold, and even with Angela’s layers of blankets and pelts, even though Genji seemed undisturbed, they both froze deep into their bones.

And so, three months after their first meeting, on a chilly evening that would bring an even colder night, the Valkyrie did not turn to her bed to sleep. With arms full of blankets and pillows, she approached Genji on the floor, curled up around himself as he always did when he slept.

Dark brown eyes watched, vary and curious, wondering if she had finally lost her mind.

Angela graced him with a smile, small and unsure, as she started walking on ice she didn’t knew was thin or thick.

“It is cold,” she stated, a breath away from the dragon. “I’d wish for some company.”

Emotions flashed past in dark brown eyes, and Genji bowed his head as he shifted, making space for Angela to lie down next to him. With a blanket separating her from the floor, she laid down, slowly, carefully.

Genji watched her wordlessly, breathing softly.

With pelt and blankets thrown over both her and the beast, she tried to get into a comfortable position, trying not to touch those sharp scales. If Genji noticed her discomfort, her restless shifting, remains to be a question, for he shifted along with her, curling his body around her as if to protect her from the cold. She was pressed close to him, to those sharp scales, and she prepared for blood.

But she felt only warmth.

It pulsated off of him in waves, with every breath he released, seeping into her skin and calming her in a way not even her medicine could. Those sharps scales were smooth against her arm, soft in a way that should’ve been impossible.

And as she closed her eyes, she let sleep take her with the rhythm of a steady heartbeat.

Only when her breathing had evened out, soft and soundless, did Genji lay down his head between his paws, placing himself between her and any danger that might lurk in the cold outside.

Because even he knew it would only be a matter of time before those dangers found them.

 

*

 

The Valkyrie was known to wander the battlefields, untouched and pure, with feathers upon her back as she shoulders the burdens of men. She touches the souls of the fallen, graced with the power from the Old Gods, to decide their faith.

She cured sickness and death alike.

To her proud people of the North, she is Mercy, for it is the first thing her kin may know, and the last her enemies shall be shown.

And her absence on the battlefields echoes through the kingdoms, hollow and screaming, turning into hushed voices and whispers among those who hungered for power, to take down the great North.

Without the North’s Mercy, death would be the only thing known.

And so, the kingdom grew restless.

“She was taken by a child of the Old,” the villagers spoke, hushed voices full of fear, for one would not speak ill of the Gods’ decision and live. “Perhaps the Gods wanted her back.”

“A dragon carried her away, soundless like any assassin,” the guards at the castle murmured on their breaks, in narrow corridors and outside an empty room full of withered herbs. “She may not be alive.”

“She was kidnapped,” the king spoke as he reached out to any warrior and knight in their kingdom and beyond, everyone with a heart made of bravery and a sword so sharp it could cut monsters into two. And every man and woman, everyone blessed and unblessed, would lean in to listen.

The king’s words spread far and wide, a promise of gold and riches, the confirmation of what everyone already knew; the Valkyrie had been stolen.

“And she will be brought back.”

 

*

 

Greed drives many men and women in life. Most of them meet a deadly end.

Very few meet that end at the tip of a dragon’s claws.

 

*

 

The first to come for Angela was a knight in shiny armor, metal that had never been used before, and certainly never in battle. He followed the rumors whispered amongst nearby villages, rumors that had spread far and wide amongst those who would listen, about a serpent swimming in the early morning skies.

Angela was the first to spot him, standing at the window and mixing a bowl of medicine, looking out over the green fields and the colored sky. Pausing her movements, she narrowed her eyes as she stared at the horse galloping towards the castle, the metal catching the light and making the knight glister.

She knew a knight would have no business at a castle in ruins.

Unless they knew of her.

“Genji,” she spoke, turning to glance at the dragon, watching as he stretched out like a cat, a rumble leaving his chest. The sunshine played with the shine of his scales, creating a pattern of the most emeralds of greens to the most golden of yellows, dancing upon his body.

A soft hum left him as he turned to Angela, meeting her warm gaze.

“I believe we have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Genji mused, joining her at the window, brushing against her arm. As he laid eyes upon the knight outside, he froze.

A rumble, cold and warning, rose from his chest.

“I will return shortly,” he announced before stepping over the windowsill, taking air in that certain way he always did. His body twisting like a fish in the water, a slithering snake cutting through the clouds, a dance only he knew and only he could perform.

Angela found herself watching him, her movements stilling and lips parting. She had seen him fly many times before, but every time it felt _magical_.

And she watched as Genji landed, towering up above the knight like a beast from legends, showing off sharp teeth and claws. The horse rose upon its hind legs, the knight clutching on for dear life, drawing his sword and raising it towards the dragon.

Genji didn’t bat an eye.

Lashing out with claws, faster than a striking snake, the sword was cut into pieces, shattering to the ground. There was a pause in the air, Genji taking a deep breath.

Then he roared.

It was loud enough to rattle the bones of the knight, loud enough that he lost his hearing permanently, loud enough for Angela to lose her breath with the bowl tumbling to the floor. The knight fell from the horse, crawling on the ground as he tried to get away from the roaring beast.

Once again, Genji roared.

He spoke no words as he let the knight crawl away, getting to his feet and taking a run. The horse was already long gone, and so Genji stayed where he was until the knight had disappeared as well, off into the village where he would be laughed at, a sound tinged with fear.

Only then did Genji return to his Valkyrie, lying down on the floor as if nothing had happened, and Angela resumed her duties.

Later that evening, when they got ready to sleep, Genji lifted his head.

“Should I not have chased him away?” He asked, voice a soft purr, insecure and regretful. “If you wish to return home, I shall not stop you. Not after everything you’ve done for me.”

But Mercy shook her head, sitting down at Genji’s side with the pelt around her shoulders.

“I will stay until your curse is broken,” she whispered, reaching out a hand to rest on his nose, the gesture so gentle it stilled Genji’s restless heart and made it speed up again for a different reason. “I will not abandon you.”

And Genji closed his eyes, leaning into Angela’s touch.

“Then I shall chase away any knight and warrior who dares to approach,” he whispered, a promise against her skin, his tail curling around her as she settled down for the night. “I will protect you with my life.”

 

*

 

“I need to tell you something,” Genji said one day as Angela sits on the floor next to him, butchering the rabbit he’d caught for dinner.

She paused momentarily, studying his expression, before turning back to her task. The next round of medicine laid in the bowl by her leg. “After dinner,” she had told him and he had not complained.

“It is about my curse.”

That made her put down the rabbit, the knife slipping from her hands as she turned completely to him, her attention undivided. After all, neither had spoken about their blessings or curses, had spoken nothing about their life before.

This time, it was Genji who tried the ice, with his sharp claws and lithe body.

“I did not have the best reputation before,” he began, keeping his eyes on Angela, letting her keep himself grounded. “I knew too many secrets. Political ones that could bring the empire to an end, and private ones that could bring pleasure to any man or woman.”

Angela tilted her head to the side, looking Genji over with a narrowed gaze. “Were you a Fire Breather?”

And Genji answered with a chuckle, the sound rumbling his body and making a smile spread on his mercy’s lips. “If only. Things are a bit more complicated, but I ignored my responsibilities and fled a reality I had never desired. It was those pleasurable secrets that got me into trouble.”

He breathed out with a sigh, the warmth ghosting over Angela’s skin.

“I was to be married away, _to still my heart_ , my father would claim. I fled from that too, trying to still my heart in other ways. I met the wrong woman, one with a black tongue who spoke curses in languages long forgotten to man. She told me no way to break this curse, to ease its pain, and left me as I am now.”

“Were there no blessed in your kingdom?” Angela shifted closer, a hand resting on the dragon’s neck, as if she could rip away the curse herself but lacked the strength to. “Were there no one to break the curse?”

And Genji shook his head, lowering it down to rest in Angela’s knee, allowing her, silently _begging_ her, to pet him. She did just so, gently stroking her fingers over the smooth scaled of his forehead, down over his nose and muzzle. It seemed to ease the pain, of only a bit.

“Not even the blessed at the emperor’s court could unsay this curse. But they told me of someone far North who might, someone who brought dead back and sent others in their place with a single wish.”

“And you found me,” Mercy whispered, her movements stilling, wondering just who Genji might be to know of the emperor’s blessed ones, but feeling too safe among him to ask.

There was a brush of her hair, tickling her cheek as it had escaped her ponytail, as she leaned down to press her forehead against her dragon’s. A purr, soft and warm and so entirely _Genji_ , rose from the beast as it answered her.

“I’m glad I did.”

 

*

 

The first attempt to rescue Angela from her dragon was not the last. Every time they came for her, Genji chased brave men and women away, roaring and spitting, claws digging into the ground and threatening to tear into flesh and bones.

It would be easy for him, to rip them all apart. To stop them from coming back with better steel, digging into scales and flesh, threatening his life more than once. To stop worrying Angela as she made him sit still as she patched him up, with herbal mixtures not meant to break curses.

Yet, when she asked, he told her “it is not my right to take their lives, for they are not able to take mine.”

And so it continued, days turning into weeks, weeks turning into a month. Genji protected her, relentless and braver than any warrior she had seen, braver than any soul she had touched upon.

She should’ve been scared of that raw power, like she was at the very beginning, but as she watched Genji chase off yet another knight, yet another warrior with a brave heart faltering at the sight of a dragon, she couldn’t help but feel calm. After all, the dragon was protecting her.

As they lied down together to sleep that night, covered in blankets and furs, Mercy found herself thinking that perhaps it might not be too bad to stay with Genji.

Even after all of this was long over.

 

*

 

Eventually, six months after Genji first brought her to the tower, Angela had tried everything possible. She had created every thinkable mixture and letting Genji drink it all. As she presses on, mixing up foreign herbs she’s already tried a dozen of times, she refuses to realize the truth.

Six months since her first try, and she is still no closer to finding an answer to the curse.

She refused to think of it, shook off any thought that crossed the matter. She kept it from Genji, doesn’t tell him a word of how there’s no progress at all. When he asks, she lies with a smile and tells him “I think I’m onto something!” And every time, he would fall for that smile, giving his own version back with slow blinking and content sighs.

There was no cure.

Angela tried to swallow the dread that rose within her, tried to buy more time.

There was no cure.

She only let the tears burn down her cheeks when Genji wasn’t in the tower to see.

There was no cure.

And Angela was losing hope.

 

*

 

He took her out flying one evening when the skies were clear, the stars far above twinkling and holding ancient stories of other worlds. The stars were different than the ones she knew from home, and there were no ancestors dancing in the sky, even though snow painted the land around them.

She missed that ounce of familiarity.

And so, Genji brought her as close as he could to those stars, so close it felt like she could reach out and touch them if she so wished to.

It was different this time, to fly, compared to her first. She sat upon Genji’s back, fingers clutching his majestic mane, thighs pressed together against sharp scales that were smooth to the touch. She could feel his muscles working, could feel them shift and tense underneath her as he moved smoother than water.

And although the winter wind was biting her cheeks and playing with her hair, creating ice crystals that blossom out on her skin, she can’t help but smile. Up in the clouds, along with her dragon, she was more free than she had ever been.

Up among the stars, there were no burdens of men. There were no blessings or curses. There was nothing that kept her down, that kept her chained to responsibilities and things out of her control.

She allowed herself to relax, to just for a moment let it all go and _breathe_.

They sored through the sky until the sun peeked up over the horizon, painting the sky red and orange, casting the same colors upon Genji’s scales. Only then do they land back in the tower, exhausted with racing hearts and numb fingers and paws.

Genji pushed at her with his nose, and she laughed as she tried to keep her balance, a hand braced on his thick neck. Something was pushed into her hand, something sharp to the look but smooth to the touch, something glistering of emerald and gold.

“For good luck,” he said with a voice so warm and so soft, that Angela could feel the same warmth on her cheeks and fluttering in her chest as she accepts the single scale.

She kept it in her pocket, close on her person at all times. More than once, she catches herself stroking over the smooth surface, the gesture calming her beating heart.

And she figured that the truth could wait, if only she could stay a little while longer with her dragon.

 

*

 

A week of repetition of herbal mixtures and knights trying to claim her passed by in a blur of habit.

And so, it came as a shock when there was a knock on the door.

Both Genji and Angela paused at the sound, meeting each other’s gazes before turning to look at the door. No knight or warrior had ever gotten as far as this, had always been stopped at the large field before they could grace the ruined castle. But Angela had kept watch, as she always did, and she had seen no horse nor knight nor warrior approach.

Another knock sounded in the room, and Angela moved to open it under the watchful eye of Genji.

The man that stood in the doorway looked nothing like the knights or warriors that had passed so far, for he wore no metal armor and no fur upon his shoulders. His clothes were unfamiliar to Angela, his very looks screaming of a foreigner. He wielded no sword nor shield, but a simple bow resting on his back.

The mark of a dragon covered his left arm.

“I wish to speak to Genji,” the man said, voice thick with accent, similar to Genji’s. But he sounded gruffer than the dragon, more demanding. As if he was used to given orders, and for those orders to be followed.

At the voice, familiar to the dragon, Genji moved over with large eyes, starting at the foreigner as if he couldn’t believe what he saw. But the man who visited them did not look surprised.

“You need to return home, brother,” the man spoke and Genji froze, tail curling around his mercy. “The elders are furious, and dark clouds grow in the horizon.”

“I will not leave,” Genji answered, a growl crawling into his voice, a snarl on his muzzle. “This is the only way, Hanzo. The only way for me to be free of my curse.”

“You do not understand! Your selfishness has pushed our empire onto the brink of war!” Hanzo shouted back, voice full of rage, clenching his hands at his sides. “You have kidnapped the Mercy of the North, and they have put blame on us! Hanamura will have to answer for your actions, and that answer will be war, for we will not stand silently as Northerners threaten us and our honor!”

A pause, heavy and bitter.

And then Hanzo took a shaky breath, his jaw clenching as he seemed to spit out the next words. “If you refuse to return home, to let the Valkyrie join her people, I have been ordered to kill you. Bringing back the Valkyrie might stop the war, an offering of peace before it is too late.”

Because they all knew that without Angela on the battlefield, the loss would be too great. Many great men would die, all because Angela had stayed in the tower for too long. She needed to return home, to stop the war, to force sense back into her parents’ minds and still the hunger for blood of her people.

And the kingdom of Hanamura carried rumors of dragons curling around their gifted, becoming one with their spirits. Their own children of the Old Gods. If the rumors were true, if their gifted had powers on par with Angela’s, then the North would suffer perhaps more greatly than the East.

But she had given a promise. She wouldn’t abandon Genji.

To her side, Genji didn’t move as Hanzo pulled out his bow, an arrow knocked and tattoo glowing with a blessing of old. Her dragon didn’t move, he didn’t speak, and he didn’t fight back. He simply accepted his faith, had known this day would come, had known there would be consequences for his actions. But never could he have imagined it would be by the hands of his brother.

Genji accepted it silently, head bowing low and eyes cast down. If his life could end a war, then it would be a noble sacrifice to make.

Angela refused.

With a held breath, she stepped into the way of the arrow, calm and collected, back straight and head held high, staring into the face of death.

“I believe you have heard stories of me,” she spoke, voice full of authority because she had been raised as a princess of the North, a warrior of her own. And a princess did not bow down for death. “I hold lives in my hands; I decide who lives and who dies. I was brought here to break Genji’s curse, and that is what I plan to do, no matter how long it may take. If you want to hurt him, to kill him on the orders of men, then mercy is the last thing I’ll show you.”

She met Hanzo’s gaze beyond the arrow directed at her face, and she kept that gaze, _daring_ him. For she had no wish to die.

And the brother lowered his bow, looking between Angela and Genji with his head still lowered and tail curling around his mercy. And the Valkyrie looked back, with fire in her eyes and with the ability to end Hanzo’s life with just a wish, blessed with dragons upon his skin or not.

Hanzo understood why the kingdoms feared her, and exactly why they wanted her back.

Slowly, he turned around, stashing away his bow once again.

“The curse shall break when you realize,” he spoke, giving them a last glance back, keeping Angela’s gaze. “In the meantime, I shall try my best to postpone the war. You better realize soon.”

With that, he walked away.

The dragon and the Valkyrie did not see him again.

 

*

 

Angela did not know what she was supposed to realize. She had already realized that there was no cure, that her kingdom was on the brink of a war because of her, that her life was too valuable to be spent in a tower trying to break a seemingly unbreakable curse.

She did not know what more was expected from her.

They returned to the life they had come to live; chasing away knights and warriors alike, mixing herbs into mixtures that had already been tried a dozen times over.

Soon, Genji began to notice.

He noticed the familiar taste, noticed the purple blossoming out on his scales before it was reversed a minute later by another familiar mixture he had tasted once before.

He noticed the way Angela was quieter, the way the fire in her eyes began to dull, the way her eyes were puffy and nose red whenever he returned from a flight.

He noticed the way her touches seemed to linger, the way she pressed close to him during the night, sleepless with worry weighting down her chest.

And yet, he said nothing, for what could he possibly say?

Instead, he began to bring her things he found upon his short travels, small gifts that were easy to carry; flavorful spices, exotic food and leaves that were used for tea, golden rings to keep up her long hair and away from her face as she worked, flowers blooming in the spring air.

The gifts helped, if only a little bit, if only for a moment; the dullness in her brilliant blue eyes no longer as clear, her smile less forceful and warmer, her touches softer as she stayed close to him, fingers trailing over his smooth scales and starting a relentless warmth in his chest.

Genji was content with that, and so was Angela, to live in their own little world high in a tower, separated from responsibilities and wars.

 

*

 

But no sweet things last forever. Sooner or later, someone will break through into that carefree world.

 

*

 

It all ended a sunny afternoon with the promise of rain in the air.

“The first day of spring,” Angela had told Genji that morning, a soft smile upon her lips. “It might bring new herbs we have yet to try.”

They had went on with their day like they always did, with Genji curled up around her as she mixed herbs and spices, with no hope of a cure, but trying nonetheless. She breathed in the early spring air, felt its heaviness and secret promises, but could only think of better times. And Genji nudged her leg as he shifted, a yawn escaping him in his light slumber. She graced him with a smile before turning her gaze to the horizon.

The horizon, glistering of metal, on the background of clouds heavy with storm.

Her movements stilled, eyes wide and her breath stolen from her lips. As she watched in horror, the army grew larger as it approached, with glistering metal and swords sharp enough to cut through scales and bones.

“Genji,” she whispered, kept her gaze on the army as she put down the bowl, missing the edge and sending it tumbling down on the floor instead, its contents spilling out on the wood. “Genji!”

And her dragon stirred, blinking up at her with dark brown eyes full of warmth.

“We have visitors,” she spoke, turning to meet his gaze just for a second, her fear unhidden. “And they are many.”

Genji stretched, his body limb and scales in a million shades of green and gold.

“Then I shall greet them,” he answered, paw on the windowsill as he froze, taking in the scene before him.

One knight, he could scare away.

Two knights, he could defeat easily.

Three knights, he could tear apart before they could kill him.

But an army?

Yet, he showed no fear in front of his mercy, swallowed it down until it settled deep in his stomach, heavy like a stone. With his head high, he lunged himself out of the window, dancing in the sky as he approached the army. Determined and fearless.

Because behind him in the tower was his Valkyrie. And he’d do anything to protect her.

Angela watched, heart and fear stuck in her throat, unable to swallow it down. Swords were risen towards the beast, shouts echoed through the air, the army charging towards Genji with a single goal in mind.

With a growing fear, with hands placed on the cold stone on the windowsill, Angela watched. And the more she watched, the less she saw through the dimness of tears.

She didn’t hear the steps going up the stairs, didn’t hear the knock on the door, didn’t hear when it opened.

“So you’re the mighty Valkyrie, huh?”

Spinning around, she came face to face with a man, dressed in clothes from a far-away land, wearing a confident grin.

He moved before she could, and there was nothing in her hands to be thrown and so she spat and bit and punched as he grabbed her by her arms, pushing her up against the wall. His breath ghosted her ear when he spoke.

“I’m gettin’ paid mighty fine for this, so be a doll and spare me some trouble.”

But the Valkyrie was fierce, and she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She stomped, earned a pained grunt, and she wiggled in a grip of steel, kicking back and spitting at the man holding her down.

A rope around her arms strangled her spirit, of only a bit. When she was thrown over a shoulder, held in place by strong arms and unable to escape, she kept kicking and wiggling, and even if she couldn’t fight, she wouldn’t make it any easier for him.  

He kept huffing and puffing, small sounds of pain, as he carried the Valkyrie down the stairs. Soon, she could feel the spring air kissing her skin, toying with her hair and whispering of the oncoming rain. The oncoming storm.

And as they came out in the open, the tower and the place she had begun to call home behind them, she could see the battlefield.

Blood stained the grass, leaving not a single glimpse of green. Bodies and limbs and gore scattered around like toys in the playroom of a child, and she could feel the souls of the fallen, flickering and begging for her to save them. Could feel the souls of the ones still alive, as they stared down bared fangs dripping of blood.

In the midst of the destruction and death, was Genji. The only green to be seen, the clouds darkening his scales, the red a contrast to the naturally emerald hue. He fought bravely, head still held high despite the swords and spears penetrating his body, some still hanging onto his flesh, as he twisted around faster than a striking snake, ripping knights apart and tearing them open.

He fought bravely against the army, but anyone could see it was a lost battle.

They were closed in on him, screaming and shouting, and whenever he turned one way to strike, he got hurt from the other. His roars filled the air, deafening and yet faltering in strength for every strike, every sword sinking deep into his scales and flesh and bones.

“No,” Angela choked out, her kicks stilling as she stared, unable to tear her gaze away from her beloved dragon. “No, no, no! _Genji_!”

She screamed his name, roared it like an animal desperate in its cage, and Genji lifted his head high, roaring back at her. Painful. Fearful. _Desperate_.

But the man carrying Angela kept moving, a horse already waiting for them. She kept kicking, tearing herself free from her restraints, tumbling down to the ground with a painful gasp she could barely hear in her own ears.

She got up, could get no further. A hand clasped down on her mouth, grasped her waist to keep her still, suffocating her screams and cries. She bit down, drew blood, screamed for her dragon, screamed for _Genji_. She tried to reach out for him, couldn’t possibly reach.

Oh, how she wished she could’ve reached.

The dragon took air, ungracious movements with a dance jerky and unsure, trying to get to her. Trying to save her. He had sworn to protect her; he couldn’t let someone take her, couldn’t let her fall through his fingers so easily.

The man behind her moved, drawing out a weapon without any sharpness, without the steel of a sword.  

Genji met her gaze, dark brown eyes wide and full of fear, roaring her name as the weapon went off, spitting fire and smoke and pain.

And before her eyes, the mighty dragon who had protected her for months, was struck down.

She didn’t see him hit the ground. She didn’t see the splatter of blood. She didn’t see the way the dark curse still curled around his soul. She saw nothing through the haze of tears. And so she stilled in the man’s arms, letting him tie the rope back around her arms, letting him throw her up on a shoulder.

The Valkyrie’s fighting spirit had been strangled, and after gasping for air for so long, it was left lifeless.

“I wish you dead,” she whispered, voice failing her with tears streaming down her cheeks. “I wish you all dead and no place in the afterlife.”

The Valkyrie’s wish was law. If she wished for life, there would be another breath. If she wished for death, darkness would be all that would be known.

And yet, the army moved, breathing and stabbing and slicing a body that had already stilled.

And the man kept walking, reaching the waiting horse, showing no signs of death and decay.

He was alive.

They were all still alive.

“’scuse me, might be my doing,” the man spoke as he heard her speak, sounding far from remorseful. He flashed her a smile, might have been apologetic, might have been proud. “I was blessed too, you see. _Nullification_ of other gifts. Comes quite handy.”

And for once, the Valkyrie’s wish was just a wish.

She was thrown up on a horse, body heavy and numb. The last thing she saw as the man steered the horse to the North, was the army parting around the lifeless body of a dragon.

 

*

 

They were met at the gates.

Flowers decorated every inch of stone and wood, picked from the South where the snow had melted, a heavy scent lingering in the air. The people greeted them with cheers, had traveled from every village in the kingdom of the North, if only for a chance to greet their Mercy.

“She has returned!” They chanted as Angela was lifted down onto the ground, held close in an embrace by her parents, hiding her trembling from view.

“The war will be won with Mercy by our side!” They shouted as Angela forced herself to straighten up, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

“We shall avenge you, and our enemies shall know the sweet taste of mercy!” They roared as Angela forced herself to breathe, could barely walk over her own numb legs.

She did not speak, did not return the chants and shouts and roars of her people. She said not a word as the man who had kidnapped her, who had shot her dragon out of the skies, was paid his weight in gold.

For she could do nothing to bring Genji back.

They celebrated her return with flowers and music and dance and a feast fit for the Gods. And even though she sat at the large table, with more food on her plate than she had seen all those months, she did not touch it. Nor did she take a single sip out of the golden mead.

She simply sat in stillness and waited for it all to be over.

Eventually, someone noticed.

“She is just tired,” her parents excused. “Trauma from her captivity, from her time in the claws of a dragon.”

Yet, she said nothing, touched nothing, simply continued to wait.   

Soon, her parents excused her yet again, let her be taken to her rooms with the help of two guards. They hid her away from the men and women who put their trust upon her, a single person blessed by the Old Gods who blamed herself for not being able to break a curse stronger than any human could break.

Who blamed herself for not saving a single life, the one life that had mattered to her.

 

*

 

That night it rained.

The storm had caught up to Angela, threatening to tear her apart. She stood still and let it, with a green scale smooth to the touch biting into the skin of her palm.

She watched the dark skies in silence, separated only by the glass of the window. And she wished life upon someone who had long fallen from those open skies, cursed and bleeding with no one to rescue him.

The green scale in her hand warmed, burning hot like the feathers on her back, and she let it turn into stardust as she cried.

She had loved her dragon, after all.

 

*

 

The preparations for a war she wanted no part of, but she knew she had been the cause of nonetheless, were tedious. They weighted heavy on her shoulders as she was forced to heal young and old, everyone fit to fight.

They visited her room, with dried blood and missing limbs and sickness in their lungs after a long winter, begging with smiles and raised hands for her mercy. She wished them all life, watched as blood disappeared and limbs grew back and sicknesses faded away into nothing. She could do all of that, so easily, so _simple_.

Yet, she hadn’t been able to break a single curse, placed upon someone with a warm heart and an even warmer gaze. And she hadn’t been able to save that precious someone from an army that she could’ve wished to death if faith had been kinder.

Perhaps it was life’s way of punishing her for all the souls she had saved and the ones she hadn’t; to steal away the most precious soul in her life. To let her feel loss and pain biting into her heart, an ache worse than the ink on her back.

And so she tried to redeem herself, healing the ones that came for her, saving the limbs and lives of those she could. She bit through the pain that once again blossomed up over her back, etched as ink into her skin, glimmering golden feathers that she found herself wishing upon, “ _if only they could allow me flight_.”

Her back ached and burned, worse for each day as new feathers sprawled out over her skin, turning the wings heavier and heavier with the burdens of others.

And as she spent sleepless night upon sleepless night, unable to lie on her back with the pain ever present, she realized that during her time with Genji, she had felt no pain at all.

 

*

 

She distanced herself the best she could, refused to attend meetings of strategy and of the kingdom’s economy, refused to look at the long lists with names of every warrior who would participate in the war, everyone she would have to bring back and heal and touch upon their souls. She locked herself into her room, only accepting three meals a day, not eating more than she had to.

She still wished upon life for those who kept visiting her, and she kept sleeping curled up with a burning back and an aching pain in her chest.

 

*

 

It took a week until there was a knock on her door.

“Our Mercy, Our Mercy,” the guard called through the heavy wood. “The king and queen demands your presence.”

When her parents demanded something, even she had to listen.

She moved slowly, straightened out wrinkles on clothes she hadn’t changed in days, had lacked the energy and will to. The guard didn’t move as she opened the door, simply stared at her with wide eyes full of wonder and admiration.

With a forced smile, she walked past him, her body still numb as she wandered through familiar corridors that felt too cold in the early spring. She passed many guards and servants and warriors who had come for her gift, and although they greeted her with bows and salutes, she acknowledged them only with a nod

She still had a role to play, she reminded herself. Her people depended on her. She needed to look strong, needed to look like the Valkyrie the other kingdoms were so afraid of, needed to shoulder the burdens of others alone.

As she reached a smaller room, reserved for war meetings in dire times, her parents looked up from a single letter laid upon the table in front of them.

“It is from the emperor of Hanamura,” her father said, bitter in voice and tone. “To avoid war, they offer their second prince.”

“They wish to unify our kingdoms,” her mother said, sweet in voice and tone. “Despite the distance between us, it will only bring good to the North.”

“You wish for me to marry,” Angela spoke, hollow in voice and tone. “A prince of our enemies, to avoid a war that should never have been.”

In the end, she had little say in the matter. To unify kingdoms was more important than war, and she accepted her faith without complaint.

For the sake of the kingdom, she told herself, it was a noble sacrifice for the war she had caused, for all the lives that would be saved.

_For the sake of the kingdom_.

 

*

 

It took a week before there was another knock on her door.

She had been forced to shower and change clothes the same morning, helped by giddy maidens who had whispered rumors and secrets that hadn’t stuck with Angela. She was to be married, news that had spread through the four kingdoms alike, had created pride among her people and fear among her enemies.

To her, it was simply yet another duty to be fulfilled.

With a straight back and feathers burning gold through white cloth, she answered the door. And yet again, the guard stared at her with awe and wonder, words tumbling on his tongue as he tried to speak.

“The second prince of Hanamura has arrived. Our Mercy is to be present in the throne room.”

And so, Angela pulled herself together, tried to stitch together what was left of her that didn’t _ache_ and _burn_. She wouldn’t let her people see her weak, wouldn’t let them see a child of the Old Gods broken and hurting.

The kingdom of Hanamura, ancient as any, with rumors whispering of dragons curling around their gifted, one with their spirits, their own children of the Old Gods. They wouldn’t settle for anything less than the Valkyrie. The one with pride and strength, who could rise an army from the dead and send another in their place, all with a single wish.

They wouldn’t accept a broken woman, ruined by love she hadn’t realized in time.

She needed to be the Valkyrie, even though her own rumor betrayed her at the moment.

No one greeted her as she walked to the throne room, even though she passed many. It must’ve been something in her gaze, something in her stance, something in the way she walked with a fire and warmth that made onlookers lose their voices and breaths.

And as she arrived at the throne room, she didn’t falter with steps echoing in the large room, rising to the high ceiling from a floor of smooth stone. Her parents, already present at their thrones, welcomed her with smiles and gestures to join their side.

She took her own seat, regal and powerful, the room seeming to bend in her presence. She was _radiating_ , just like the rumors of the Valkyrie, her wings golden and clear on her back. And she made little business of looking the visitors over, from the guards dressed in only cloth and leather, to the royal advisors dressed in silk, and finally landing on the man in front of the company.

He was kneeling, head bowed in respect. Hair a color of ink, clothes made of the finest silk and green and orange and gold upon his skin, wielding a presence that was strangely familiar. He was a royal, the second son of the emperor of Hanamura, and so he had the presence of a prince, the presence of someone who knew his own power and his limits.

This was the man who would hold her hand, who would sit upon the throne with her long after her parents had moved on to the realm of the Gods, who would advise her in times of need and would do anything to keep her from falling. This was the man she would spend the rest of her life with, if faith was kind.

The man didn’t move, kept his head bowed in respect, in a way that wasn’t truly fit for a prince, but perhaps for an offering for peace. Behind him, his advisors and guards were bowing even lower, and her parents seemed content with the show of inequality in power.

When Angela spoke, her voice sounded like a song as it danced around the room, carried by the high ceiling and stone floors.

“You do not need to kneel if we are to be equals. Nor shall you feel the need to be quiet in my presence.”

The man stiffened at her voice, a movement so small it could’ve easily been missed, but Angela saw. And as he slowly raised his head with a gaze flickering to meet hers, Angela could feel her breath be stolen and she was unable to breathe, unable to move. All thoughts, all words and the numbness in her limbs, fled her and left her trembling.

She recognized those eyes.

And her dragon gave her a smile as he straightened up, so warm and full of longing, that Angela wanted to fall to her knees as well. She wanted to cry and punch him and cling to him, wanted to know if she had finally lost her mind.

But her dragon spoke and shattered her doubts, voice so familiar and yet so much softer from the lips of a human and not of a beast, and she was unable to tear her gaze away, to look at anything but those warm brown eyes. Nor did she want to.

“How can I not fall to my knees in front of such a beauty?”

She felt herself smiling, soft and graceful on her lips. Before her, the prince looked breathless at the sight of her smile, awe and wonder and _love_ in his eyes. It felt strange, to see such a familiar expression on a human face, but she knew she would grow used to it, longed for all the new discoveries she would make about her dragon.

“We humbly welcome you to the North, Genji of the Shimada clan, second son of Hanamura,” the king spoke, voice booming in the room, regal and powerful. “May your time here bring happiness and honor.”

“You must be tired from your travels,” the queen continued, gaze shifting from her daughter to the prince. Suspecting, not knowing. “Rest. Tomorrow, our Mercy shall show you what you will come to share.”

And Genji bowed low, showing his respects to the king and queen, until he straightened up, gaze once again meeting Angela’s. He gave one last, final bow, just for her.

As the prince and his company left the throne room, Genji looked back one last time, heart beating fast in his chest as he laid eye upon his mercy. A smile pulled at his lips, a warmth blossoming over his skin as Angela gave a short wave goodbye, looking every bit the angel of the rumors, and every bit Valkyrie.

The only one who could’ve saved him.

And the only one who did.

 

*

 

True to her mother’s word, Angela waited outside the rooms given to the prince, early in the morning as the sun rose from its slumber. Two guards stood by her side, parents not trusting her alone with a foreign prince just yet.

And true to habit, Genji opened the door just as she arrived, guards of his own by his side, dressed light despite the chilly weather.

He greeted her with a smile, to which she returned a smile of her own.

“Allow me to show you around,” she whispered, words only for her dragon. “The castle may be a little cold this early in the morning. Tell me if it chills your skin, and I shall lend you my pelt.”

He bowed his head, eyes never leaving hers as they began to walk down the corridor.

Angela would speak loud and clear for both prince and guards to hear, about every room they passed and every special view from the windows. She would answer questions, spoken by the prince and occasionally by the guards, shy and unsure in her presence. And she would whisper secrets and promises to her prince when the others couldn’t hear, receiving sweet endearments and promises in return.

They walked close, never truly touching when the guards or passing servants could see, still they lingered when they bumped into each other, fingers brushing together so feather-light it might have been a trick of the air. They stole glances more often, enjoying each other more than the view of the kingdom, for that gaze was warmer and softer than the harsh North.

Eventually, as they walked out of the castle for a look at their many horses, Genji spoke with a shivering in his voice.

“If my Valkyrie wouldn’t mind, I would like to accept your pelt.”

And so Angela gave him the grey pelt that had laid heavy on her shoulder, the last piece of the wolf who had wandered too far, gotten a bit too dangerous last winter with snarling muzzle and sharp teeth, threatening their sheep and children. Genji wrapped it around his shoulders, surrounded in a scent of wildness and Angela.

“Will you not be cold, Mercy?” One of her guards asked, narrowed gaze landing on Genji, fingers twitching with the want to draw something sharp.

“I am accustomed to the cold of the North, as I suspect you are as well,” she answered with calm. “This cold will not bother me.”

“You must have a warm soul, for the cold to leave you be,” Genji said, and then leaned close to whisper, warm breath ghosting over her cheek. “I wonder if I would be able to chase the cold away, so you would never have to experience it.”

She found herself wondering as well, if the cold could creep between two bodies, clothed or not. Wondered if breaths and touches could keep them warm. Wondered if the warmth would last even without movement, when everything was still and drowsy.

And she glanced up at Genji, met his gaze and met his _hunger_ , matched it with a hunger and an unsaid want of her own. There were questions asked, silent and soft, and questions were answered with soft touches and fingers interlocking.

She realized that he wondered too.

 

*

 

With something new blossoming between them, warm and precious, the very air seemed to change. It became harder to keep their hands to themselves, took every chance to touch the other, fingers tracing over hands and arms and shoulders, hands sneaking around waists to keep the other close.

Soon, they were sharing the wolf pelt.

The guards pretended not to notice, looked the other way when the prince played with the fur around Angela’s hips, found the stones of their path to be quite interesting when the Valkyrie placed her fingers on a thick bicep, studied the birds as Genji flexed and lured forth a laughter so bright and pure it made the guards flush red and did no longer know where to look.

The guards tried to pay little attention to them, embarrassed over seeing what they should not. It did not take long for them to lose sight of the pair completely.

They tried to sneak away, hid in the stables with hands traveling over thighs, warm breath ghosting over lips, eyes lidded and _begging_. A stable boy found them before any act could be done, before they found out if they could chase the cold away, and was unable to tear his gaze away from Mercy, gripped the pitchfork a bit tighter as Genji moved to apologize.

Soon, the guards found them, sweating with panic and forced to work together.

They tried to sneak away a second time, fell behind as they walked through the village and greeted the people they met. They never got to touching, for the villagers found them too easily, warriors who had seen her before and commoners who’d had no reason to. And Genji came to witness the wonders of Angela’s gift up close, saw her create a missing limb for a woman of three small children, saw the joy of the children and the admiration of the adults, felt the numbness through her fingertips. Once again, he was reminded of the Valkyrie’s power, and felt only pride for her.

Soon, the guards found them, swearing and panting for air after a run.

They tried to sneak away a third time, more successful as they were back in the castle, taking the servants’ route through a hidden staircase. And Genji pressed Angela close to the wall, concealed in the darkness, hands on her thighs to support her and kept her from falling. She grasped his shoulders, clutched him close, lips tracing patters over his neck that made him shiver and tremble. And he pressed his lips to her as well, teeth sinking testing into the soft skin just above her collarbone, nibbling lightly and earning an even softer sound from her lips.

Soon, the guards found them, just before they could share a kiss but breathing heavy with excitement nonetheless.

This time, the guards patted each other on their shoulders, defeated looks and smiling still.

“I believe the end of the tour will be our Mercy’s room,” they said, leading the fumbling pair to familiar corridors, towards a familiar wooden door. “And we shall stand guard, telling stories of myth and legend, loud enough for the villagers to hear.”

Angela smiled at that, thanking them deeply for sharing stories, for it would drown out any sound Genji would make in case he would be loud.

And at that, her dragon flushed a lovely shade of red.

 

*

 

It had been long since they had last been alone together.

Weeks, Angela reminded herself; it had been weeks since Genji had been shot down from the skies and she had lost her hope.

And so, when the door closed and locked behind them, they suddenly felt unsure. They both wondered, desired to know, but there was a hesitation of things that had still been left unsaid and untouched.

Angela was the first to speak.

“I thought you were dead.” She took a step closer, met his gaze and kept it, let him drown and drowned herself in that warmth in return. “I saw you fall.”

“And I did fall,” Genji whispered, closing the gap between them, carefully taking her hands in his, could feel her softness and her trembling. “I fell and I was stabbed and sliced and left to bleed. I could feel my life drain out, felt it slip through my fingers and I could do nothing to catch it.”

A shaky breath, and Genji pressed his forehead to Angela’s, eyes falling closed, trying to take on her pain and sorrow.

“I died, I am sure, for seconds if not minutes. But I am sure that you wished me life.” A ghost of breath, hands hugged tighter, closer, pressed over a beating heart. “You saved me. You broke this curse of mine as you had promised, and you wished life upon me. And even a dragon must bow to the wishes of a Valkyrie.”

And Angela reached up to his cheek, pressed her fingers and palm against the smooth skin where she could feel no scales, only the warmth of a human. Genji leaned into the touch, a content sigh leaving his lips, eyes fluttering open.

“You may wish life and death upon mortals; your wish become reality. But it was not your gift that saved me, not at first, as it would not work while the curse laid heavy on me.”

Angela blinked, eyes widening and breath stuck on her lips.

“The curse was already broken,” she spoke and Genji smiled and answered, “It broke the moment you realized. And then your wish was fulfilled, with no spoken curses or darkness to stop it.”

Because Angela had realized it, had gazed up at the storm and wished her wings would allow her flight, had pressed a smooth scale into the palm of her hand and she had cried over moments lost and moments that would never be.

And she had realized it then.

Genji leaned forward, lips pressing against hers, testing and wondering. And Angela answered, pressed closer as she arched into him, hands grasping his shoulders for support as he held her waist. They broke only for air, soft gasps and heated gazes, tongues darting out to wet dry lips before they got lost in each other again.

As they tumbled to the bed together, desperate with a familiar hunger settled into their stomachs, they parted to breathe and to pull at too many layers of clothes and fur.

“Is it too much to ask to hear you say it? Just for me.”

And Angela smiled, pushing down her dragon onto the bed before crawling on to straddle him, felt his desire and want and _love_. All for her.

“First, let me show you. And then I shall speak those words you desire if you would speak them with me.”

And as they moved together, slow and hot, desperate and burning, Angela wore her emotions on the surface, could see that Genji did the same. The curse-breaker laid in their touches, light and warm; it laid in their shared gazes, blown and hungry; it laid in their movements as they trembled and held on to each other, chasing the cold away and never letting it settle over their naked skin.

As they reached their end, heights unchallenged, Angela let her voice be known in whispers against Genji’s lips, and Genji would whisper back the same word, the same emotion.

They had known the moment they met once again, both human and both children of the Old Gods, that the curse wouldn’t had broken unless both of them had realized; the dragon who realized it so early, and the Valkyrie who realized it almost too late. They both knew, and yet they let the words linger in the air, spoken against skin amongst sweet sounds of names and nonsense.

“I love you,” Angela whispered as she laid on her side, pressed against Genji with layers of fur covering them.

“I love you,” Genji whispered as he trailed the feathers on her back, followed the ink with his fingers, erasing every trace of pain and making them as light as the feathers they were.

And as they fell asleep, curled up around each other, the words still lingered in the air. Said and true.

The cold did not return that night, nor any night that followed.

 

*

 

The wedding took place a warm spring day, just before summer would reach the North.

It was all formalities, to make it official. _Tradition_ , Angela reminded Genji as they were dressed in white fur of bears even further to the North, as silk pressed against their skin as soft and light as water.

The many villages of the North stood empty that day, its people having traveled far if only to catch a glimpse of their Mercy and the dragon whose hand she would hold until the end of days. Only few could fit in the large throne room, among the guards and royal visits from the West and South and East, and so they crowded the courtyard and beyond the gates, stood on the streets of the city. They sang, a tone of old, in honor of their blessed child. They danced, together and never alone, with laughter and joy. And they drank and ate, taken from reserves after promises of a fruitful summer to come.

“The Gods are pleased,” they spoke, words spread amongst rumors that would soon be forgotten. “Days of peace will follow, life for us all.”

In the castle, in rooms of white stone and high ceilings that carried every sound like a bird in flight, were princesses of the South; dark in skin and dressed in colors that had previously been unimaginable, and they greeted the Valkyrie with respectful bows and gentle smiles. From the West there were no royal, for they were in a state of crisis, and had simply sent a representative with a familiar face and a weapon of fire and pain by his side. And from the East, the emperor had stayed in Hanamura, but the oldest son had come to attend, dragon crawling over his skin and moving under the curious gazes of the princesses and representatives.

They all brought gifts; jewels from the West, glass flowers of the ocean from the South, dormant eggs of dragons from the East along with seeds of pink trees. Those seeds would later be planted on the large courtyard, would grow with the help of gifts from New Gods, would bloom once a year and a month later than in the East.

Rumors were spoken that day, whispered in the throne room amongst royals and nobles and commoners and guards alike. But the hushed voices died down as a dragon and a Valkyrie walked into the room, tall and royal, seeming to radiate of power and glory.

And although the second son of Hanamura was a sight to be seen, a warrior of his own, with a green dragon crawling over his skin and moving in his shadow, all eyes were on Angela.

She walked with a straight back and gracious movements, seemed to be carried by her wings. Because upon her back, laid bare for everyone to see for the first time since she had felt the ink etch into her skin, were feathers of golden glimmering ink. They seemed to shift under the bright sunlight, seemed to move and ease her movements.

There were no signs of the pain she had once felt, no signs of the burdens and sins of others.

The throne room was quiet during the ceremony, for words and voices were lost on tongues and lips, replaced with an awe and wonder that was only rivaled by the look in Genji’s eyes as he met Angela’s gaze.

They sealed the unifying of their kingdoms with a kiss, easy and sweet, practiced during late nights that allowed more touches than a wedding.

It was over too quickly, moved on to a feast with food and mead and songs and dances that loosened everyone’s tongues and spirits. Angela and Genji participated, danced until they got lost in the other, all in their own world. And the world outside was content with watching.

And in the back of the room, clad in clothes from the tall Western mountains, stood the representative from the West, chewing on his lower lip in the lack of something stronger. By his side was a weapon of fire and pain, strong enough to bring down a child of the Old Gods from the stormy skies. By his other side stood a man from the East, dragon crawling down his arm. They greeted each other with smiles of old lovers and few things would be left unsaid between them.

“Everything turned out alright in the end,” the Western man would whisper once the music picked up louder, drowning his voice and allowing only the first son of Hanamura to hear.

And Hanzo bowed his head, eyes fluttering closed as a smile spread on his lips at that familiar voice that seemed to bring shivers down his spine. “It did. And they are happy. However,” a pause, a scolding look. “If there will ever be a next time, please refrain from shooting my brother.”

The laughter boomed through the room, enough to turn heads, but not enough to disturb the young couple dancing in a world of their own.

 

*

 

They would come to rule together as the old king and queen grew old and passed, and they would rule wisely with a peace spreading over the land. The North and East would remain unified, would last longer than generations until it was unthinkable to imagine them separated.

They would outlive generations, for the Valkyrie’s lover could not pass before her. They only moved on when they chose to, returning to Gods, old and new, that had blessed them with gifts that sometimes felt like curses.

And they would be greeted with open arms to an eternal feast, shared between children of old and every soul Angela had not been able to save.

Their tale would soon turn into legend, and it would spread far and wide over the Land of the Mortals and the Realm of the Gods alike. It would speak of a woman who carries the burden of men as feathers upon her back, gold and glimmering and sometimes capable of flight. She wanders the battlefield, touching the souls of the fallen as she decides who may live and who may die.

For that is her gift as a child of Old, with a single wish cure sickness and death, and with a single wish send an army to meet the Gods.

And at her side is a proud warrior with a soul twisted and intertwined with a dragon’s, who has felt the skies’ promises and the roar of the beast. And it still curls around his skin, green with scales sharp to the eye but smooth to the touch, and it can sometimes be seen in his shadow from the light of golden wings upon a bare back.

If faith is by their side, brave warriors can see them wander the battlefields, together and proud and strong, and the warriors would know that the battle is over. Even long after they’ve passed on, warriors will sometimes catch a glimpse of golden wings and green scales before they take another breath of life, and they would remember the tales they had heard as children.

To her people, she is known as Mercy, for it is the first thing she will show her kin, and the last her enemies will know. To her enemies she is the Valkyrie, a warrior who choses life and death. With a dragon of the Northern wind by her side, they bow down to no one.

They are the children of the Old Gods.

And there is truth in legends.


End file.
